


And I Am Barely Touching You

by thepizzasitter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marathon Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, Y'all I'm so soft for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: “I’ve missed you.” And fuck, Crowley feels tears well up at the simple, easy way Aziraphale says things like that. They’ve hardly been apart for months since the Apocalypse was brought to a screeching halt, and years before that, but Crowley knows exactly what he means. Knows what it is to miss someone you’re sitting next to, knows how feeling alone doesn’t exclude being in a room full of people.





	And I Am Barely Touching You

**Author's Note:**

> Haven’t written Good Omens fanfic in years, but here we are, back in Hell because of a show that has rocked me to my core with how brilliant it was. As usual, my love scenes are written to Insatiable by Darren Hayes, but I don’t think any pairing has deserved that song more than this one...

“Darling,” Aziraphale breathes against his neck, and Crowley’s hands tighten against the headboard, head hanging low with the effort of not moving when Aziraphale’s fingers wander over his chest and stomach, teasing the trembling muscles just above his hips with the lightest of touches.

The night is muzzy and hot, heavy with anticipation, and Crowley can feel the sweat dripping between his shoulder blades to smear between them, where Aziraphale is pressed as close as he can against the demon’s back. He could miracle it away, but to do so would feel like the worst kind of sacrilege.

They stay like that, suspended in the shuddering breaths and the sounds of summer rain against the windows of their South Downs cottage. Their paradise within Eden, as Crowley privately calls the greenhouse and gardens outside. Remembers the way Adam and Eve couldn’t get enough of each other, how they’d looked at each other like there was nothing else. How Adam had chosen Eve when faced with the decision between a perfect life and the one he loved, because perfection was nice, but she was essential.

Crowley could linger here forever, until the world ends again and they’re all that remain among the wreckage of the earth, but he also wants, needs, _desperately_ —

“Please,” he whispers, his whole body a supplication to his angel, a plea and prayer for mercy that he doesn’t deserve, but can’t help but ache for with everything that he is.

Strong fingers lace through his and bring them down to the bed, where he trades fistfuls of wrought iron for ones of soft, cool sheets soaked in moonlight and the smell of their lovemaking.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs again, shivering when Aziraphale lays kisses along his spine, down to the dip of his back. He draws his hips up, delirious and still needing more even after his angel has spent the better part of the day having his way with him, against every surface they can find and a few that barely count as surfaces at all.

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, traces his fingers along the puffy, red rim until Crowley can hardly breathe, whether he needs to or not. He rubs his cock alongside his fingers, and Crowley wants to cry with how badly he needs Aziraphale in him. It’s still so new, this thing between them. Old as the world in countless other way, but _this_. The way Aziraphale holds him close, handles him with such care and devotion, the way he tends to Crowley’s body and heart in tandem like he’s something _precious_ …

“Aziraph—oh fuck, oh _fuck_ , please, angel, fuck me, I need—”

He chokes on his own words when Aziraphale suddenly pushes into him, the stretch around him exquisite and easy after hours of being on his back, against the wall, bent over tables and counters, taken hard and fast on the rug or so slowly he’d actually gotten around to screaming into the pillows of the couch. He’s had Aziraphale’s mouth on him and his tongue so deep in him he’d blacked out and came back to himself to find his hair being stroked and his head pillowed on the angel’s chest.

When he felt like he might actually discorporate from overstimulation, he’d given himself a cunt, thinking it might buy him some time to recover while Aziraphale figured out how to please him that way, but he’d forgotten how much Aziraphale loved earthly pleasures. Foolish of him, really, to assume his hedonism extended only to men.

Riding an angel’s face has got to be the single greatest deed ever done by any demon ever, but all Crowley could think in the moment was _ohfuckyesmoreangelplease_.

All in all, not much different to what’s currently running through his brain, but that’s semantics.

“ _Oh_ ,” he chokes out, presses his face deep into the pillow when Aziraphale starts to move, just small, languid little thrusts, waiting for the tension in Crowley’s shoulders to relax.

“You feel so good, my love,” Aziraphale murmurs, leaning forward to ease Crowley, down, down, into the mattress so he can cover his demon’s wiry form entirely. He gets a hand under them, lets Crowley fuck his fist while he braces himself and sinks a little deeper into the warm body under him. “So good for me, you’ve taken everything so well, my beloved.”

He moans, and a hand weaves into his hair, longer now, knowing how much Aziraphale loves running his fingers through it. The angel tugs him up, just enough to have him gasping and leaking into Aziraphale’s hand, and bites gently at his neck, layering bruises over bruises that Crowley will absolutely _refuse_ to miracle away later.

“I’ve missed you.” And _fuck_ , Crowley feels tears well up at the simple, easy way Aziraphale says things like that. They’ve hardly been apart for months since the Apocalypse was brought to a screeching halt, and years before that, but Crowley knows exactly what he means. Knows what it is to miss someone you’re sitting next to, knows how feeling alone doesn’t exclude being in a room full of people. Aziraphale is deep inside him, is naked against him and pushing him down and having him in every way a human body can be had, and it will still never be enough.

They haven’t tried their true forms yet, but it’s just a matter of time. And when they do, Crowley has a feeling he will still never be as close to Aziraphale as he wishes he could be.

But fuck it all if he isn’t going to love every second of trying.

“Come in me, angel, please,” he whimpers, relishes in the answering moan. “I need you close to me.”

“I’m here, I’m yours. Anything, my love, whatever you want,” Aziraphale promises, finally fucking into Crowley as hard as he can. Each thrust forces another sound out of the demon’s throat, every breath harsh as he reaches back to grip Aziraphale’s thigh, dragging him closer still. He never thought he could have this, still fears sometimes that the angel will come to his senses and remember that, demon or not, Crowley is hardly a thing worth loving.

“You,” he grits out, and surrenders. “Always you.”

Aziraphale strokes him through it, grip slicked with come, until Crowley is a panting, trembling mess beneath him. He pours words of love into him as he follows him over the edge, and Crowley relishes in how well his angel fills him, how he lingers there, not pulling out, until the desire to hold Crowley close proves too great and he slips out to pull the covers over them.

They doze, trading languid kisses as the world keeps spinning. Fingers trace every feature they can find, delighting in each other. This is their day, their Psalms to each other, their garden, their plays and their poetry. Little stories of the past shared when they’re awake, dreams of the future shared when they finally fall asleep.

It is _their_ Plan, finally, and it is Good.


End file.
